


I'm Staring in the Mirror Looking Back at the Person I Hate

by hell0lust



Series: On the Verge of Self-Destruction [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anorexia, Eating Disorders, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Purging, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-29 12:00:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5126780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hell0lust/pseuds/hell0lust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of drabbles which loosely serve as a prequel to On the Verge of Self-Destruction. Chronicles Sirius' experiences with eating disorders and self-harm from their onset up to being disowned by the Black family. Anorexia, b/p.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sirius Learns to Purge

**Author's Note:**

> An anon on tumblr prompted me to write more about Sirius' experiences with anorexia, which led to this. I love the idea of showing glimpses of Sirius' childhood and earlier experience with his eating disorder and self-harm issues, which made him into the character depicted in On the Verge of Self-Destruction. This won't be in chronological order; rather, it will most likely jump around in time, showcasing particular milestones of sorts in Sirius' life in regard to his eating disorder (i.e. the onset of purging, first time taking amphetamines, his first hospitalization, etc.).

“Sirius, finish your dinner.”  
  
Sirius glanced up, forcing a blank expression as his mother shot him a particularly venomous look. He’d been home from school on Christmas holiday for less than two days, and already longed for the warm comfort of Gryffindor Tower. “I’m not hungry, mum,” he mumbled, averting his eyes to the table.  
  
Sirius had always been a slim boy, his lithe frame inherited from his mother, Walburga, who stood willowy and tall, all sharp angles. Still, he had returned home for Christmas, halfway through his fourth year, seemingly thinner than ever. His brother, Regulus, had cracked several jokes about it their first evening home, noting that he, nearly half a foot shorter than Sirius, probably weighed more than him. Sirius had hexed him with a particularly nasty spell following that comment, locking his bedroom door behind him. Sirius did not care for commentary about his weight or appearance; he wasn’t stupid, he knew he had lost weight. That had been the _point_.  
  
Anxiously, he tapped his foot on the floor, silently willing for the meal to be over.  
  
“Sirius,” his mother said sharply, commanding his attention.  
  
Sighing, he lifted his head once more, meeting his mother’s gaze.  
  
“You will finish your dinner. I don’t know what you’ve been up to at that _school_ , but your insolence will stop, _now_. I will not have my eldest son _embarrass_ me and besmirch our proud family name by appearing at Christmas dinner looking like a starved child. You will eat and clear your plate, do you understand me?”  
  
Sirius remained silent, struggling to hold back the tears that threatened to spring forth from his tear ducts at any moment. _I can’t, I can’t, I can’t eat this, I won’t, I won’t...._  
  
“Sirius!” Walburga shrieked, hurling a crystal goblet, still half-filled with wine, in Sirius’ direction.  
  
Sirius ducked, instinct kicking in. He froze as he heard the sound of crystal shattering against the wall. He briefly glanced over his shoulder, dread filling his stomach as he watched droplets of red wine stain the cream-colored wallpaper. He _hated_ his mother, _hated_ being back under her roof. Walburga was a domineering woman, who mercilessly controlled every aspect of her sons' lives. Sirius _hated_ feeling powerless, _hated_ that despite being age fourteen, she still wielded such power over him, still left him feeling like a weak child.  
  
Lack of control had been what had sprouted his behavior to begin with. Powerless for so long, Sirius had found himself desperate to cling to anything that granted him control over something, anything. It had been at Hogwarts his first year that he had found what he considered to be his salvation. While his mother could still domineer over his entire existence, from what career path he should take to the length of his hair, he did have something that was entirely his: he could control his weight.  
  
“SIRIUS! Do you understand me?” Walburga shrieked, jerking Sirius back to reality.  
  
“Yes, mother,” he mumbled, bending his will to hers.  
  
Silently, he shoveled the remainder of his dinner into his mouth, barely taking the time to chew. Rather, he hurriedly washed down mouthfuls of food with gulps of wine, wanting nothing more than to be excused from the table. He dropped his fork onto his plate, a faint _clink_ of metal hitting delicate china. “May I be excused?” he mumbled, eyes staring down at his plate.  
  
“Go. Get out of my sight,” Walburga hissed, waving her hand dismissively. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” she sneered, calling out after him as he retreated from the room.  
  
Taking the stairs two at a time, Sirius hurried to the second floor of Grimmauld Place, eager to put as much distance between himself and his mother. He slammed his bedroom door shut, locking the door behind him. Miserably, he sunk to the floor, leaning against the heavy oak door for support. He clutched his stomach, suppressing a groan. He hadn’t eaten this much in one sitting in months, and his body was protesting. Sirius swallowed a mouthful of saliva, trying and failing to ignore the lingering feeling of nausea. He wrapped his arms around his middle, squeezing his eyes shut as he willed his stomach to stop roiling so. He felt sick. Sirius opened his eyes, an idea striking. Quietly, he slipped into the adjoined bathroom, taking care to lock the door behind him. He turned on the lights, staring curiously at the toilet. _When I’m sick, throwing up usually makes me feel better..._ Still unsure about what exactly he was doing, Sirius approached the toilet, dropping to his knees before it.  
  
He bit his lip nervously, unsure of what to do next. _How do I, what could make me..._ Carefully, Sirius inserted two fingers into his mouth, slowly moving them further back in his mouth, gingerly pressing down on his tongue as he neared the back of his throat. To his surprise and relief, the action triggered his gag reflex, barely giving Sirius enough time to remove his fingers from his mouth before a slew of vomit rose up his esophagus. Shocked, and with a fresh wave of adrenaline coursing through his veins, he stuck his fingers down his throat once more, continuing until he was certain his stomach was empty. Satisfied, he sat down on the cold tiled floor, hugging his knees to his chest. He trembled slightly, the initial rush leaving him with a sinking suspicion that what he had just done was inherently _wrong_. Still, it had undone the damage he’d done by eating everything he had at dinner, he considered, shrugging. _It can’t be that wrong, can it?_


	2. Cutting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fall 1975. Fifth year. Sirius, still struggling to cope following his hospitalization the summer prior, turns to cutting as a release. Remus discovers Sirius' self-injury.

_Inhale. Exhale_. Sirius stared down at his forearm, barely aware of the sticky dark red trickling down his arm, the blood a sharp contrast against his milky white skin. _What am I even doing?_ He'd promised himself time and time again that he'd stop doing this, yet here he was once more, razor blade still gingerly gripped between his right thumb and index finger.  
  
It was risky doing this here at school, especially in the dorm washroom. Usually, Sirius handled these urges in the solitude of seldom-used toilets on the third floor. It was safer that way. However, the Howler he’d received from his mother at dinner had been far more devastating than he’d led the others to believe, and thus, there he was, carving into his flesh once more.  
  
He squeezed his eyes shut, replaying the events that had occurred mere hours before in the Great Hall. _Sirius Orion Black_ , the howler had cried out, his mother’s voice louder and more malicious than usual. _She was probably drunk when she sent it_ , Sirius figured, digging the razor deeply into his arm, wincing from the pain as flesh tore open, a fine trickle of blood seeping from the wound. _Healer Perkins has written, saying that you have not been to see your psychiatrist in three weeks. What are you doing? I’m certain that you’ve been far too busy carrying on with blood-traitor trash to be bothered to keep your appointments which were a stipulation of your release from St. Mungo’s. Are you eating? Shame of my flesh, wretched boy. Starving yourself. You’re an embarrassment to the Black family name. I expect you to begin keeping your appointments or I will have you recommitted to that ward in St. Mungo’s quicker than you can say quidditch_. Biting his lip, Sirius dug down into a fresh patch of flesh, tears prickling the corners of his eyes. He hadn’t wanted everyone to know. Yes, Professor McGonagall and James and the lads knew he’d spent his summer in St. Mungo’s being treated for anorexia, but had his mother really needed to announce that to the entire school? _She’s right. You are useless. A disgrace. An embarrassment._  
  
“Sirius?”  
  
Sirius froze, a chill running down his spine. “Yeah?” he called out, struggling to sound calmer than he felt.  
  
“Is everything alright?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, just a sec,” he replied, shoving the razor into his pocket.  
  
As he quickly pulled down his sleeves, the door swung open. “I smelled blood,” Remus elaborated, eyeing Sirius worriedly.  
  
“I nicked myself shaving earlier,” Sirius lied, crossing his arms against his chest.  
  
He winced involuntarily, the initial adrenaline rush from he self inflicted wounds wearing off. Lips pressed grimly together, Remus approached him, tugging Sirius’ left arm away from his chest. Sirius turned his head, defeated, unable to bear the look of disappointment in Remus’ eyes as he rolled up Sirius’ sleeve, examining his wounds.  
  
“We need to heal these, Padfoot.”  
  
_Silence._  
  
“If we don't, they'll leave scars.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
Remus stared at him a moment, Sirius’ reply catching him off-guard. “Why would you-”  
  
“I need this, Rem,” Sirius pleaded, eyes lowered to the ground.  
  
“H-how long have you been doing this?” Remus gasped, still gripping Sirius arm.  
  
Sirius shrugged. “You’re not the only one with scars, Rem,” he mumbled, pulling his arm from out of Remus’ grasp.  
  
Carefully, he removed his robe, exposing the bare flesh of both arms. “You have your _thing_ , I do _this_ ,” he elaborated, thrusting his pale arms closer to Remus’ face.  
  
Remus examined his arms closer, taking in the scars littering Sirius’ arms; some pale and healed, others fresh, still red. Ghostly scar tissue trailed down Sirius’ arms from his shoulders to only just above his wrists. “Why?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.  
  
“I don’t know,” Sirius shrugged, wrapping his arms self-consciously around himself. “Sometimes I just... I need a release. To make everything stop moving so fast around me. You know? Drain the pressure or whatever.”  
  
Remus nodded, silently observing him. Sirius hugged himself tighter, unnerved by Remus’ gaze. _What is he thinking? Merlin, he probably thinks I’m mental. That I’m disgusting._ He frowned, biting down on his lower lip. _You are, though. You are disgusting. Who would ever want some freak who starves himself and slices open his arms. You’re a fucking nut-job, Black. You should just do everyone a favor and end it all-_  
  
“Sirius,” Remus said softly, interrupting Sirius’ train of thought.  
  
“Hmm,” Sirius mumbled, shivering slightly from the cold.   
  
“You should let me heal those cuts,” Remus continued, taking a tentative step towards him.  
  
Sirius stood frozen, unsure of how to respond to Remus’ gentle touch on his skin.  
  
“Please,” Remus begged, grasping Sirius’ hand.  
  
Sirius frowned, conflicted. “I need-”  
  
“At least let me heal that one,” Remus interrupted, pointing to a particularly nasty looking gash on his arm. “If you leave that be it’ll wind up infected. That’s more than a superficial wound, Sirius... You cut deep there.”  
  
Sirius nodded, color fading from his already pale cheeks as Remus prodded the deep gash in his arm. The one he’d made while thinking about the howler from that evening.   
  
“Fine,” Sirius said at last, relenting.  
  
He stood still, letting Remus perform the healing spell necessary to stitch up the wound. “All better,” he affirmed once he was finished, offering Sirius a weak smile.  
  
“Thanks,” Sirius retorted, unsure of what else to say.  
  
“If you want to talk about.. You know, whatever it is that made you do _that_ , you can talk to me, Padfoot,” Remus said softly, eyeing him with concern.  
  
Sirius shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”  
  
“Was it because of your mum?” Remus queried.  
  
Sirius froze, jaw clenched at the mention of his mother. “I,” he started, his limbs tingling nervously as he struggled to maintain his composure.  
  
“She’s wrong, you know, Sirius. Don’t let her nasty words poison your mind.”  
  
Sirius nodded tersely, uncomfortable with where this conversation was heading. “Thanks Rem.”  
  
“Sirius?”  
  
Sirius sighed. “Yeah?” he asked, reluctantly.  
  
“Can you... Come find me, when you’re thinking about doing _that_ , again. Talk to me about it. I... I know I can’t stop you from doing it, but at least... at least let me _try_. Alright?”  
  
Sirius nodded, blinking furiously to fight back tears. “Okay, Rem. Okay.”


	3. Sirius and Evelyn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June 1975- Sirius and Evelyn become aquainted

Sirius frowned, stabbing at what appeared to be a breakfast sausage. Grease oozed from the meat, much to his disgust. He shoved his tray away, folding his arms against his chest.  
  
“Sirius,” a stern but friendly healer stated, hovering over him. “You have not finished your breakfast.”  
  
“I can’t eat that shit, it’s loaded with grease and fat,” Sirius barked, lips curling into a sneer.  
  
“If you do not finish your breakfast, you will be out of compliance with your meal plan,” the healer reminded him gently.  
  
“I don’t care.”  
  
Sirius sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. _I’m going to die here. I honestly might die._ Upon completion of his final exam, Sirius had been shuttled off to St. Mungo’s, where he was now a patient on the adolescent eating disorder inpatient ward, until further notice. He had been there for three days now, and thus far had managed to avoid eating an actual meal. _Though who knows how long I’ll be able to hold that off._  
  
“Hi.”  
  
Sirius looked up, surprised to see that a girl who looked vaguely familiar, had joined him at his table. “Hey.”  
  
“You're Sirius Black, right?”  
  
“Sirius nodded. “Yeah, why? “  
  
The girl smiled, shaking her mane of platinum blonde hair back. “I'm Evelyn. Evelyn Greengrass.”  
  
Sirius nodded, immediately recognizing where he knew the girl from. Evelyn was two years ahead of him at Hogwarts. Her family ran in the same social circles as his own. He was also aware that Evelyn was an attractive girl; in as much as he recognized the fact that she was the object of many boy's affection at school.  
  
“You’re going to get the tube if you don’t start eating _something_ every meal,” Evelyn noted, rapping long manicured fingernails against the table.  
  
“The tube?” Sirius queried, wrinkling his nose. “What’s that?”  
  
“Essentially force-feeding. They’ll hook you up to a feeding tube which will provide you nourishment via a nasogastric tube. It’s not pleasant.”  
  
“How do you know that?” Sirius asked suspiciously.  
  
“This isn’t my first visit to this ward,” she muttered dryly. “I spent last summer on the tube.”  
  
Sirius raised his eyebrows but said nothing.   
  
Evelyn rose to her feet, eyeing Sirius expectantly. “Come on, I want to show you something.”  
  
Eagerly, Sirius trailed behind Evelyn, who strode purposefully out of the dining hall, towards the healer’s station. “I want my cigs,” she snapped, holding out her right hand.  
  
The healer shot Evelyn a dirty look but complied, handing the blonde a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She turned to face Sirius, who was standing a few feet behind her. “Come on,” she urged, nodding towards a glass sliding door, which led to a narrow balcony.  
  
Evelyn leaned over the ledge of the balcony, a smoldering cigarette clutched between her bony fingers. Sirius watched, fascinated, as she inhaled deeply, exhaling a plume of smoke. “Post-meal cigarettes are the only thing that keep me sane,” she elaborated.   
  
Sirius nodded, unsure of how to respond. Evelyn took another drag before flicking the butt over the ledge. She cocked her head towards him, a single brow raised. “Want one?”  
  
Sirius nodded, holding out his right hand. Skillfully, Evelyn removed two fresh cigarettes from her pack, sticking both in her mouth and inhaling as she lit them, trails of smoke escaping her nostrils. “Here,” she offered, handing him one.   
  
“Thanks.”  
  
Sirius inhaled, overwhelmed by the taste of menthol. “First time smoking a menthol, eh?” Evelyn noted, shaking her head.   
  
Sirius nodded. “Yeah. A bit _stronger_ than non-menthol.”  
  
“You get used to it.”  
  
“It’s nice out here,” Sirius noted, attempting to make casual conversation.   
  
“It is,” Evelyn agreed. “The balcony is my sanctuary here. It’s the easiest place to do what you want without being scolded by the fucking staff about ‘engaging in behaviors’ or whatever.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Sirius asked.  
  
“Well,” Evelyn began, smirking, “it’s really easy to purge out here. The healers never accompany patients to the balcony. You just lean over the ledge and,” she motioned the action of sticking two fingers down her throat. “Easy,” she concluded, shrugging.  
  
Sirius blinked, processing the information. “So you mean...”  
  
“Obviously you have to at least go through the motions of recovery if you want to get released, but _no one_ can force you to stop your behaviors. You just have to get more creative with it,” Evelyn elaborated.  
  
“Do you...” he paused, nodding towards the balcony.   
  
“Yeah. I prefer restriction, but given the circumstances, I do what must be done.”  
  
“But the tube, you said...”  
  
“They only give you the tube if you’re not in compliance with their rubbish rules. All you have to do is go to your stupid assigned therapy activities and eat the minimum required at meals and not be daft enough to try puking in the bathrooms, since they’re monitored. As long as you _appear_ to be following the rules, there’s nothing they can do.”  
  
Sirius frowned. “But they said... They said I couldn’t be released until I-”  
  
“So you gain five pounds to make them happy and then they let you out. It’s how it works, Sirius. You tell them what they want to hear and do what you must to convince them you’re doing better so they’ll release you and you can be free to your own devices, once more,” Evelyn interrupted, shrugging. “We should get back inside. Can’t stay out here too long or it raises suspicion.”  
  
The pair returned Evelyn’s cigarettes to the Healer’s station before settling down on a worn but comfortable sofa in the day room.   
  
“So tell me something, Sirius.”  
  
“What do you want to know?” he asked, eyeing her curiously.  
  
“I don't know. Anything. I'm bored.”  
  
Sirius shrugged. “There's not much to say about me.”  
  
Evelyn shot him a disbelieving look. “Right,” she scoffed. “There’s absolutely nothing of interest about the heir to the Black family, who was somehow sorted into Gryffindor.”  
  
Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing.  
  
“I understand your parents weren't pleased with your sorting,” she continued, her voice gentler this time.  
  
“Mother...” he paused, searching for the right words to use. “She expects a lot of me. Sometimes the pressure is just...”  
  
“Yeah. I know what you mean,” Evelyn said softly.  
  
“Sometimes I feel like I want to just... to just say fuck it all and throw everything up in flames.”  
  
Evelyn observed him for a moment, blue eyes piercing him with her gaze.   
  
“I didn't, I didn't ask for all of this. The money. The power. The title. I didn't, I don't... Sometimes I just feel like destroying something.”  
  
“So you destroy yourself. Because it's the only thing that's really yours, and no one else's,” Evelyn added, nodding her head.  
  
“How did you end up here, anyway?” Sirius queried.  
  
“Hmm,” Evelyn mumbled, staring at her split ends.  
  
“I mean, I got put in here because...” Sirius frowned, staring down at his lap.  
  
“I heard McGonagall found out you were puking after meals,” Evelyn noted.  
  
“Where'd you hear that?” Sirius asked, frowning.  
  
“Hospital wing. I kind of... passed out during end of year exams.”  
  
“Is that why you’re-”  
  
“Yup,” Evelyn confirmed. “I didn’t even finish my exams. They let me sit for them here,” she noted bitterly.   
  
“My friends told McGonagall,” Sirius offered, picking at a hangnail. “They heard me puking in the toilets after meals so they... I get it, I guess. They were worried.”  
  
“You’re not mad?” Evelyn asked, surprised.  
  
Sirius shrugged. “I don’t know. I am, but... They’re my best mates, y’know? If I were to stop talking to them over this, who else would I have for friends?”  
  
“From what I understand, you’re quite popular in your year. Particularly in Gryffindor,” Evelyn noted skeptically.  
  
“They don’t love me... not like they love James. They... I don’t know. Fear me, or something. The birds, they, I don’t know.. they think I’m good looking and all but... I’m never going to command that sense of awe that everyone feels towards James. They respect me and are friendly enough, but there’s always a distant feeling to it. I don’t fit in, I guess. I’m... I should have been in Slytherin and everyone knows it,” Sirius muttered, angrily tearing the hangnail from his thumb, drawing blood.   
  
“Hey,” Evelyn said softly, pressing a gentle hand against his thigh. “Don’t think about it.”  
  
Sirius nodded, nervous energy coursing through his veins as Evelyn’s hand grazed higher up his thigh. “I know another thing we could do that really helps pass the time here. You interested?”  
  
“Sure.”


	4. Regulus and Ugly Confrontations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> November 1976- Regulus confronts Sirius about eating

Sirius shivered as he pulled his cloak tighter around him. Insomnia had plagued him since his return to school earlier in the fall. Restless, he had taken to wandering the grounds or the castle, finding comfort in the solitude. He pressed a hand against his nearly concave stomach as it emitted a low growl; he’d been subsiding on little more than fruit and tea since the beginning of term, with no intention to stop anytime soon. Sirius enjoyed the manic rush that accompanied starving. It kept him up and running with seemingly endless energy, days blurring together as he ran about from class to class and to quidditch practices and parties, needing little more than a few hours of sleep a night to keep delirium at bay.  
  
“Sirius.”  
  
Sirius turned around, catching sight of his younger brother, Regulus, several paces behind him. “What are you doing, wandering the castle late at night, Reg? Mum will be furious if her precious little prince were to get caught breaking curfew,” he sneered, shooting his brother a contemptuous look.  
  
“I could say the same to you, Sirius,” Regulus retorted, eyeing his brother cautiously.   
  
“You know as well as I that mum doesn't think of me at all.”  
  
He paused, pursing his lips. “Except as a filthy disappointment. She probably wishes I'd get myself expelled so she could properly disown me.”   
  
“I haven't seen you at meals in nearly two weeks, Sirius,” Reg noted, blatantly ignoring Sirius’ comment.  
  
“And?” Sirius asked coldly, shooting daggers.  
  
“You've lost weight,” Reg observed, frowning.   
  
“No I haven't,” Sirius argued defensively, folding his arms against his chest.  
  
“Yes, you have,” Regulus persisted, shaking his head. “You may be able to hide it from your friends with baggy clothes and layers, but I know you, Sirius. I can see it in your face that you've lost weight.”  
  
He reached forward, lightly brushing Sirius cheek with his fingertips. “I notice the hollows of your cheeks. The dark circles around your eyes.”  
  
Sirius rolled his eyes, shoving his brother away. “Bugger off, Reg.”  
  
“You need to eat, Sirius.”  
  
“I do eat,” Sirius hissed, his eyes flickering dangerously with rage.  
  
“Bollocks. I mean really eat, Sirius! Not nibble on the apples Potter forces into your hand when you're on the quidditch field, shaking like you'll pass out at any given moment.”  
  
“Stop,” Sirius warned, holding out a cautionary hand.  
  
“Just fucking eat, Sirius! Merlin, please! You're scaring people, you're scaring _me_!”  
  
“I'm fine!”  
  
“No, you're not.”  
  
“Sirius,” Reg sobbed, grabbing his brothers hand, “why can't you just...” he trailed off, wiping stray tears away with the back of his free hand.  
  
“I'm not blind, I can see what you're doing. at least... at least have the decency to admit it,” he whispered.  
  
Sirius paused, turning to face Reg. “Fine,” he retorted, sighing. “I’m... I'm doing badly, again, okay? Are you happy now, Regulus? Did you get what you wanted?”  
  
“No... I .. you need help, Siri. You need to... you need to eat.”  
  
Sirius sighed, defeated. “I can't,” he said sadly, lowering his head.   
  
“If you’d just-”  
  
“It’s not that simple!” Sirius shrieked, shoving his brother away from him, once more.  
  
“It’s not so black and white, _Regulus_. I can’t _just eat_. I _can’t_. The very... Regulus, I-” Sirius angrily raked his fingers through his messy raven locks, struggling to string together words.  
  
“Sirius, breathe,” Reg whispered, watching his older brother with mild fear.  
  
“You don’t understand, _no one_ understands!” Sirius hissed, fingers still clawing away at his hair.  
  
“Make me understand, Sirius. Or someone else. Help someone understand so that we can help you.”  
  
“I don’t need help,” Sirius muttered, folding his arms against his chest. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”  
  
“Do you really _want_ to live like this?” Reg asked, disbelievingly.  
  
“Yes,” Sirius glowered. “I do.”  
  
“I could tell Mum, you know,” Reg said quietly, gazing down at the floor. “You’re not, you’re not of age, yet. She’d, she’d have you committed again, if-if she knew what you were up to.”  
  
“You wouldn’t,” Sirius breathed, taking a step towards his brother.  
  
“I would. Don’t you see that you’re sick, again?” Regulus asked.  
  
“I’m _not_ sick, Reg. I’m... I’m fine. I’m healthy. I just... There’s nothing wrong with watching your weight. You of all people should know that, Reg. You’re a seeker.”  
  
“Yes, Sirius, I am aware of my position on the Slytherin quidditch team. Thank you for reminding me. And yet, despite being a year younger than you and, as you so kindly reminded me, a seeker, I do believe quite certainly that _you_ weigh less than _me_ , Sirius,” Regulus hissed, shooting Sirius a stony look. “Care to explain to me how that happened?”  
  
“You’re being ridiculous, Reg, there’s no way-”  
  
Regulus interrupted Sirius by grabbing by the wrist, gripping tightly. “Look at your wrist, Sirius,” Regulus snapped, shaking his arm slightly, for emphasis. “Your wrist is downright bony. I shouldn’t be able to wrap my finger around it so easily,” he continued, modeling his ability to do so.   
  
Sirius huffed indignantly, pulling his arm from out of Regulus’ grasp.   
  
“How much do you weigh, Sirius?” Reg asked, frowning.   
  
“Regulus-”  
  
“7st 5?” he asked, glaring. “Just tell me if I should shoot higher or lower, I don’t mind guessing.”  
  
“Fuck you,” Sirius spat, glaring back. “It’s none of your business _what_ I weigh.”  
  
“Do you think it’s normal for a sixteen year old boy standing at 1.8m to weigh roughly 100 pounds, Sirius? Because it’s _not_.”  
  
“Fuck you.”  
  
“What is it about, Sirius? You’re not fat, you never were. You’d look _better_ if you ate some, put on a little weight, honestly. I don’t know how you could even _think_ -”  
  
“It’s not about that,” Sirius interrupted, lips pursed. “It was never about what I _thought_ I looked like. I don’t think I’m fat, it’s not... it’s not about that, Regulus.”  
  
“Then what is it about, Sirius?” Reg pleaded. “Tell me.”  
  
“You wouldn’t understand,” Sirius retorted, shrugging. “It’s late... I’m going back to my dorm. I suggest you do the same,” he mumbled, turning his back to Regulus. “Goodnight, Reg.”


	5. Old Habits Die Hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June 1995- Remus visits Sirius at Grimmauld Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that this was supposed to be a collection of drabbles about Sirius' life prior to the happenings of On the Verge, but I was struck with inspiration to write about OOTP-era Sirius and Remus, so here we are. I've reached the point where if I can force myself to write anything, I'm happy. I guess it only took a complete and total breakdown to rejuvenate some of my creativity.

“Sirius.”  
  
Sirius’ shoulders tensed, startled by the familiar voice. He’d settled into Grimmauld Place nearly a week prior; thus far, he’d failed to venture beyond the study. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Moony?” he asked, arranging his mouth into his best impression of what a grin should look like. It was unnatural for him, and felt uncomfortable.  
  
“No one’s heard from you in days… I figured someone should come round and see how you’re settling in.”  
  
Sirius laughed hollowly, rolling his eyes. “You mean sent you to make sure I didn’t make a run for it.”  
  
Remus sighed, leaning against the door-frame. “May I join you?” he asked, nodding toward the vacant armchair opposite Sirius.  
  
“I s’pose. There’s firewhiskey over there. Help yourself,” Sirius retorted, motioning with his drink in hand toward the liquor cabinet.  
  
“It’s nine-thirty in the morning, Sirius,” Remus said evenly, taking a seat. “Isn’t it a little early to start drinking?”  
  
“It’s not too early if you haven’t stopped drinking,” Sirius replied, taking a long swig for emphasis.  
  
“I notice you haven’t tidied up your kitchen-”  
  
“It’s not my kitchen,” Sirius interrupted, eyes gleaming angrily.  
  
Remus sighed,wringing his hands anxiously. “When’s the last time you’ve eaten anything, Pads?”  
  
Sirius remained silent, staring down into his glass.  
  
“Have you even slept?”  
  
“I don’t want to be here, Moony. I _hate_ it here. I never-never wanted to come back here,” Sirius replied, lowering his head.  
  
Remus stood, unsure whether to approach the man. Taking a deep breath for courage, he strode forward, perching beside Sirius on the right armrest. “I know, Siri… I’m sorry… I know being back here brings up bad memories.”  
  
Sirius nodded, grabbing Remus’ wrist with his free hand. “Rem,” he started, sighing heavily.  
  
Remus waited patiently, trying and failing to ignore how downright bony Sirius’ fingers were. “You’ve lost weight since I’ve seen you last,” he observed, gently stroking Sirius’ hand.  
  
“No I haven’t.”  
  
“Sirius, how long have I known you? I can tell just by looking at you that you’ve lost weight.”  
  
“I’m not the Sirius you remember, Moony,” Sirius retorted coolly, snatching his hand away from Remus. “This is what I look like, now. This is what Azkaban did to me.”  
  
Remus remained quiet for a moment, considering.   
  
“If you’d like, I could run out to the shops for you. Stock up your pantry,” he offered.  
  
“Why bother?” Sirius replied, shrugging. “I’m not hungry.”  
  
“Padfoot,” Remus said warningly, shooting him a pointed look.  
  
Sirius matched his stare, lips curled into a scowl. “I’m not having this conversation with you, Remus. I’m too bloody old. If I don’t want to eat, I won’t.”  
  
“So this isn’t about Azkaban, is it? It’s not that you _can’t_ eat, it’s that you _won’t_ ,” Remus snapped, rising to his feet.  
  
He began to pace the room, considering his next words. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a flash of motion on the table beside Sirius; a photograph. He grabbed the photo, slapping away Sirius’ hand as he attempted to intervene. He watched as the photo-Sirius twirled photo-Evelyn, a now-ancient photograph from Narcissa and Malfoy’s wedding. “Taking a stroll down memory lane, Pads?” he asked, a hint of bitterness in his voice.  
  
“It’s been almost sixteen years, you know…” Sirius replied, his voice low.  
  
“Is that your brilliant plan, Sirius? To follow her into the grave? After all you’ve been through, survived, and you’re ready to go back there? Do you even remember what it was like? How sick you were? Is that _really_ what you want?” Remus asked, barely aware that he was shouting.  
  
“Go away, Remus,” Sirius sneered, rising to his feet. Stumbling, he made his way to the liquor cabinet, pouring himself another drink.  
  
“I won’t do it, you know. I won’t stand here and watch you do this to yourself _again_ , Sirius. I can’t stand to see you doing this to yourself,” Remus retorted, pleadingly.  
  
“Enough, Rem,” Sirius snapped, rolling his eyes. “I told you this eighteen years ago and I’ll tell you again, if you don’t want to see this, then don’t _look_.”  
  
Remus sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. “Just tell me one thing, Sirius.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Did you ever _really_ love me? Or was it Evelyn all along?”  
  
“Fuck you,” Sirius growled, stepping menacingly toward him. “You _know_ that you were everything. How dare you even question whether-”  
  
“Then why are you doing this? Why do you _always_ do this? All I have tried to do since you returned is _be there for you_ and you keep pushing me away, first with all that _on the run_ nonsense, and now with _this_ ,” Remus interrupted, gesturing wildly at Sirius’ wasted form. “We’re thirty-five years old and you’re _still_ unable or unwilling to accept love from _anyone_. Why?”  
  
“Would you really deny me this, Remus? A little comfort, something that is _mine_ and only _mine_?” Sirius shouted back, staring Remus down. “Can’t you understand that I _need_ this? I spent twelve years as a prisoner to those ghastly Dementors and _now_ I’m a prisoner here. Locked up in my parent’s home. The home I swore I’d never return to. I’ve no control over anything else. Let me have this. _Please_.”


End file.
